


Pale Hands

by qaledscratch



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaledscratch/pseuds/qaledscratch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nah, you still believe in that stuff? You’re so lame for a cool kid.” </p>
<p>His mouth responds to that, the corners playing up on the skin as if they weren’t sure if they were allowed to, twitching and teasing a smile here or there. It was distracting. You realize that everything about Dave Strider is the very definition of distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired party by my own headcanon, Ludo, and that MC vs. The Felt coffee shop AU idea that floated around a few months back. uwu
> 
> Requested by handsome-killer — Sorry if it doesn’t focus much on the fact that Dave is a bass player as you would like, and the fact that it was slightly rushed, but I do hope it’s what you were looking for!

Dave always had a way of completely decimating your attention, even when he doesn’t mean to - or doesn’t even know he is to begin with.

From the stage you watched his pale skin reflect the low lights of the high beams, a smokey texture that made him appear ghost like as he sat. Honestly, he was beautiful. You had watched others preform before him, but as his wiry, bony hands plucked at the bass strings and his voice rolled from his throat in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible if you didn’t know him the way you did. 

Others, mostly fellow students at school and regulars at the Brew could see that Dave was attractive, yes. But that was it. A simple, visual judgement out of thousands that they would make that sailed the course of their actions through the day. You smile though, from the music he produced from across the room, and the thought of having his small, little secrets that made up who he was, was owned by you entirely.

_“My ancestors planted some sequoias by a road, I’ve driven down that road since I was born. Oh, never have you ever seen so many perfect evergreens, but I would chop them all down just for you.”_

_“I have walked a million miles in a hundred pairs of shoes, in search of some universal truth. Well, a deity just came to me and handed me a scroll to read, and I will gladly pass it on to you.”_

You knew Dave was not all his coolkid facade taught you to believe. He wasn’t a coolkid by any standard, no - the way he rambles on in extended metaphors that outed the blonde as a drama queen or the way his head quirks to the right when he’s asking a question would be anything but - however, it’s what you know. And only you know how much of a total dork Dave Strider really was. You decided not to question his relationship with the others. 

As ectosiblings, you just sort of assumed that Rose could easily read him like a book, and vice versa. But even you had trouble reading the sarcastic woman’s thoughts, sometimes. And there was the possibility of Jade’s awareness of Dave as well, but from your own happy, chirpy chats with Harley, you knew that your possession wasn’t threatened. And that itself made you content.

_“Anything for you , all of this is true, but the best story that I could ever tell, is the one where I am growing old with you.”_ Dave’s slender fingers glided down the neck of his black C-4 Custom as if it were made of glass that would shatter at the touch. _“But I was having rotten luck and nothing went my way,’til I stumbled on a clearing in the woods. I found a town of leprechauns and grabbed each one for wishing on, but I would let them all go just for you.”_

”John, Table 3 ordered raspberry tea. Get to it.”

Your body jolts from the sudden, hoarse voice ordering your name, oceanic orbs trailing to the scabrous man kneeling against the counter, fingers tapping against the counter, unamused by such antics. Spade’s eyes were permanently creased with an unspoken stress, it seemed. You assumed it was from taking care of the shoppe for so long, which ultimately translated into his mission statement: “To keep those clock-loving assholes away from my beans.”

_“I have crossed a natural plane and communed with the dead, but people always seem to want some proof. No one even would believe, my love, that evil I got pictures of, but I would throw them all out just for you.”_

Drinks clinked together against sleek hardwood as chatter hovered to dim lights flashing, hanging low from the ceiling. Locals dined casually within the small building, hipsters, old timers, middle-aged wives, and business men heading home from work who wanted a cuppa joe for the road. Others simply chatted, enjoying the night time air from the open windows and each others’ company. The place was bustling with a busy atmosphere, moreso than usual.

But that was because everyone enjoyed music, right?

_“Anything for you, all of this is true.”_

“Here you are, ma’am,” You beam, taking the glass from it’s place on the table and refilling it with the familiar drink before your head rolls to the side, sneaking glances over your shoulder for things your ears weren’t capable of doing themselves. He looked so at peace, you realize.

_“But the best story that I could ever tell, is the one where I am growing old with you.”_

“Oh, uhm, sir?”

“Oh…!”

Something cold hits washes over your hand and reality smacks you in the face. The two ladies are scooting in their seats trying not to make contact with the spill of tea that was theatening to cascade over the edges of the table. you hear a loud, despondant sigh from the counter and some shuffling, but the music was uninterrupted.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” You apologize immediately, turning to put the pitcher down on a nearby table and go to grab a washcloth when Clubs comes around and lends a hand. He startled you, at first, considering his build for only being your height - and you were reasonably shorter than the other three workers at the cafe.

“I’ve got this,” Deuce replied curtly, nodding his head back at the double doors. “You can go deliver the requests for Table 5.”

—

You were in the back when you heard the applause, some whistling and clapping, and you felt disappointed for missing the end. However, Diamonds dismissed you from your shift to your second 10 minutes break of the night, and you were more than happy to oblige. The couple you had spilt tea on had left, giving you a pang of guilt before you saw the mop of blonde hair, and shades that followed suit in trademark, which turned your frown into a toothy grin. Nothing different than before.

That’s what you liked about Dave the most, you think, was that he had a constant way of life. Usually when he did something different, it wasn’t him doing something new, but rather something he had always done to begin with, and you had never noticed it before that moment. And then memories start flooding back and you come to the realization that Dave is just as complicated and he is simple.

You clap a hand onto his shoulder.

“Nice performance, man.” You snicker as he turns, face plastered with a small smirk.

“Naturally. Think I would’ve chickened out?” He replied with an amused look. You go on to recommend heading to the back, away from the crowd, and he agrees. You lead him into the opposite end of the room and out the door, away from the customers departing from the shop with both happy expressions and warm drinks to boot.

Dave had crossed his arms, bass in it’s case and strapped to his shoulder as he leaned against the brick wall of the building, luminescent eyebrows arched neutrally over his shades that, in turn, rested on the freckled bridge of his nose. You smile, expectingly.

“So,” He began, a smirk toying at the corner of his mouth as if it were etched from marble, “I heard about your little waterworks show. Smooth moves, Egbert.” 

You proceed to punch him in the arm. “It wasn’t my fault, douchbag.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows arch questioningly over the shades, “Then who was it, the the little devil reincarnation that sits on your shoulder? Wow, what a little shit, making you completely destroy your chances at courting the ladies.”  
His hands move down to his pockets, and your eyes trail down his arms before they snapped back up at attention.

“Nah, you still believe in that stuff? You’re so lame for a cool kid.” His mouth responds to that, the corners playing up on the skin as if they weren’t sure if they were allowed to, twitching and teasing a smile here or there. It was distracting. You realize that everything about Dave Strider is the very definition of distracting.

His breathing stops and his pale, lanky hands wrap through your onyx hair, thin fingers playing through the loose strands, while his pink lips curved completely upward, as if deciding, yes, it was alright to smile as long as you were kissing him. You pull yourself closer into his touch, your hands unsure of what to do, scaling up before dropping again several times, the cement under your shoes scratching at the soles with every movement.  
The next thing you know, Dave’s glasses are closed in your hand and you’re staring into pools of garnet, cold noses bumping together as teeth clacked quietly against the quiet of the evening.

His mouth parted for you, only for the two of you to jolt up, startled by the loud, contrasting crash that echoed through the silence like a collapsing wall, followed by a peeved “God dammit!” before everything went quiet again. Dave’s ruby eyes narrowed suspiciously, mouth forming a frown as he shot you a quizzical glance. You gave a short nod, pulling away with a little, anxious smile before the two of you headed back inside, wary.

—

“What the fuck was that?” You exclaim, re-entering the main room of the cafe with a bewildered expression, still somewhat delirious from the heart rushing to your face.

Spades looks over to the two of you with an annoyed expression.

“The fuckers from across the street broke the window.” Slick spat, taking a drag from his cigar with an angry huff, staring through the jagged hole as if his line of sight could melt the unsightly green building across the street. You give a nervous chuckle and the man sighs. A small table clock was amoungst the mess of fragmented glass, you note to yourself.

“Just get outta here, kid. I’ll take care of this.”

“Are you su-” You begin, the thought of helping was something instinctual, but the combined force of Dave’s fingers circling around your bicep and the man’s glare were enough to shut you up on the spot in a nervous, toothy fashion.

“Oh, okay…well, good night, Mr. Slick.” Even Dave gave a small, gestured nod and a smile in turn, hand clasping tight in yours.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be late for work tomorrow, loverboy.”


End file.
